


The Want Of Gold To Stay.

by CescaLR



Series: Ginny Weasley, Veteran of War, Time Traveller, Defeater of Dark Lords, and Dark, but Good. [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (one sitting + half a day), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Dark Ginny Weasley, F/M, Gen, Ginny Weasley-centric, Good Ginny Weasley, Not A Fix-It, Not Canon Compliant, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Past Relationship(s), Post-War, Reincarnation, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, World War II, anyway, baby dark lord murder, i don't want too many tags so this is where I'll stop, i need to point that out, i set myself a writing challenge and this is what it wrought, it's not exactly simple whoops, kind of, technically, time travel folks!!, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 07:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18633337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: It would be easy. It would be so easy, and it would be cathartic, and it would be awful, the worst thing she's ever done -But everyone's gone. Everything. She's all that's left, and fuck if she's going to let the bastard win.Or: All she has to do is wring his neck, his tiny, little, defenseless neck, and then obliviate all the muggles. It's easy, its simple, it's the worst fucking thing she'll ever do - it's dark beyond belief, but by this point...Ginny doesn't care much.(Also: Their side ended up having to do worse, in the end, anyway, than kill one defenseless baby Tom Riddle. And, hopefully as a byproduct, save the world.)





	The Want Of Gold To Stay.

**Author's Note:**

> no beta we die like men this is posted as soon as it's written as part of the challenge i set myself, sorry boiis, I'll tidy it up at a later date if I get around to the thing I say at the end notes DO NOT SKIP plz and thanks i say it how i do for the Emotional Impact

It wasn't simple, not by a long shot.

It had taken years to get to this point - decades, really. Years of fighting, of loosing, of dying.

(This world is somewhat different to the one we know. In this world - Harry never came back. _One must die at the hands of the other._ This world, Hermione hypothesied, is probably doomed - about a year before her untimely death, and a month before Ron's own - and then, a year, Luna, two, Neville, Seamus Dean Fred George Katie Lee Mum Dad Professor McGonnagall Remus Tonks -)

Ginny, truly, honestly, had no idea how she'd made it this far. A lot of the rest of those alive didn't, either; Susan Bones, who'd lost everyone too, had a guilt complex a mile wide. Colin Creevey, spy, reporter - and just a kid, really, even though Ginny's not even all that much older than him... but then Colin lost a few memories and got hit with a spell or two, and dosed with a de-aging potion - so really, his chronological age doesn't matter - and then there's Cho (or, no, _there's_ Cho, lying on the battlefield right in front of her, skull split open and spilling brain matter onto the grass - a spell wizzes past Ginny's ear and she _imperios_ the Death Eater who cast it and killed Cho to curse two others and then himself as Sally-Anne shields her -) - and then there's Sally-Anne; gone to Australia after her dad got a job transfer in her first year, but came back just in time to be smack-dab in the aftermath of Harry Potter's permanent death, then there's Flitwick and Vector and of all people, the Greengrass sisters, Davis, other Slytherins (Death Eaters, she reminds herself; not all Slytherins were Death Eaters, not all Death Eaters were Slytherins) who'd defected to their side, eventually, inevitably, as those on their side had defected to Voldemort.

By this point, Ginny's not even sure what they're all fighting for. Oh, she knows what _she's_ fighting for - but that's the thing. It's not really about ideology anymore. It's not about how Voldemort's an evil asshole, except that it is - more, for her, it's not about the blood purity issue. It's about the fact that they killed her family. Her Mother, her Father, her brothers. They killed Hermione and Luna and Neville and Remus and Sirius (And Cedric and Cho and Dennis and Hannah and Dumbledore and Lee and Angelina) and -

And her Harry. Her wonderful, idiotic, self-sacrificing Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived To Die.

After that, Voldemort was mortal once more. But it just took one missed spell, one explosion - and he was gone on the wind, and then...

And now... mortal no more.

(But Ginny knows how he did it, these days. These days... these days horcruxes aren't uncommon. Not like they used to be. Someone, she doesn't know who, managed to leak the method out to the general populace.

Ginny spent the last week throwing pebbles into the ocean. She's not sure who's horcruxes they were, or which one was hers. It's better that way.)

(Fight fire with fire. That's what you get, she thinks, when the ones left to fight your war are people who've been fighting since they were children.)

(By consequence - these days, Ginny thinks, they're not all that much different. If and when they win, because she can't afford to think they won't - Ginny will look out across a sea of mutilated corpses, friend and foe, and wonder if there was ever any coming back from this, ever at all.)

Getting back on track - it's not about the morality, either. They threw that into the ocean long ago, on this isolated island country of theirs, along with the pebbles containing the broken fragments of their tainted souls. No, it's not about that, and Ginny thinks privately that it never was, really. Wizards, she's cone to know, don't give a _shit_ about muggles. Even the ones that say they do. Ginny tries, obviously, but they're all either gone or dead or - _other_ by now, and the cultural differences and the lack of understanding, it didn't help. She thinks she was probably just as predjudiced, in the, _aww, look at dad, he's such a strange but good man, he's so happy with that muggle contraption,_ sort of way.

The... it's _cute_. Like animals in a zoo, sort of way. It _disgusts_ her, of course, that she thought, or thinks, she's not sure, tha way - but no more so than cutting down swaths of Death Eaters, and... well.

By this point, she's numb to most of all of it.

Ginny feels the anti-apparation wards go down and twists on the spot, grabbing onto Sally who still can't apparate without splinching as she went. They came down hard, somewhere - in Surrey, she thinks, ruefully - and she strides onward to the safehouse without so much as a stumble. Still battle ready, because now all the muggles were gone wizards were everywhere, despite their lacking numbers - and you never knew who was friend or foe, these days.

Twenty-Eight years old, Ginny thinks to herself. She sounds like an old bint, sometimes, but... she's not even thirty, yet. She's got some flight left in her, before the old broom sputters and dies.

(And she gets a new one.)

Sally's limping along after her, so she slows somewhat. Sally's a year older but a lot more naive, despite everything. It feels weird, feeling so much older than someone older than herself, but...

Maybe that was Tom. Maybe Riddle had made her feel older than her years, if no wiser. But that was _years_ ago, and maybe seeing Cho dead on the ground had shaken her up more than she'd thought, if her steps were this clipped and her thoughts this - reminiscent.

"Cho'll need..."

Oh, Ginny's well aware of what Cho'll need. But Cho'll come to them when she's ready, and they'll have the ingredients prepared. She shuts Sally up with a look, and they come to a halt outside Number Four.

Ginny knocks, and she feels a wash of a spell assessing her. Fidellus is on, but you never know when someone's about to come in and massacre the place that you trusted them to know the location of two hours ago, so. It's best to be safe.

"Ginny, Anne, c'mon," The tired face of Romilda Vane ushers them in. She's no combatant, but she's alright at subterfuge. Rumours and news are her main game, though, and she helps run Potterwatch.

The name might be redundant, might be over a decade outdated, but... it's the message it sends. _We haven't forgotten, you absolute fucking -_

"Report," Greengrass the older demands, and Ginny rolls her shoulders. She's getting the after-battle twitches and the itch between her shoulder blades that makes her feel like she's being watched that comes from being around too many people outside of a battle scenario, but that's fine. After the report she can crash and flee and maybe she'll see Cho in three weeks when they fight together again, but that's all.

"More casualties for them than us," She says. "Good they're not allowed horcruxes really. Cho's dead, she'll need retrieval."

"Right," Daphne says. "Everyone, medical. Then rest, then we want you gone. This place is already fucking compromised, we don't want fucking _Ginny Weasley_ here."

"You flatter me," Ginny says. "Don't worry. I'll be out of your _hair_ in no time."

Daphne scowls at her. Its a valid response; she lost all her hair to a curse a couple months ago, and it still stings. Her scalp, that is; dark curses aren't exactly _benevolent._ She's lucky she didn't lose her head.

"Get the fuck outta here, Weasley."

Ginny complys.

* * *

It takes them a long time to get to this point.

Cho's not stupid. She's not stupid and has never been stupid, and never will be. She's not a genius, not got an editic memory like Granger had, she's not got the sheer creativity of Lovegood - but she's herself, and she's smart, and she's not stupid.

She's definitely _emotional,_ though - and a lot of the time, people underestimate a girl with tears in her eyes.

* * *

Cho comes back, eventually, like those that can stomach the process do - Ginny will, at some point, but not yet, because she's not dead yet - and Ginny comes across her, not on a battlefield, but in Grimmauld Place.

They won it back, four months ago. Five months before that, they'd lost it, a year before that, they'd had it.

It happens. You win and lose territory all the time, in an endless civil war.

Cho's pale. Paler than before, but not uncomfortably more so. Like most, she's only got the one - Ginny can, thankfully, count herself among the 'most', too. She's not gone completely off the deep end, yet.

(Yet.)

"I have an idea," Cho said. "It's dumb and it's stupid and it's _far_ too Gryffindoor - far too _Harry,_ but it just might work."

She's paler than usual, but Ginny thinks there's more to it than the obvious. "Really now?" Ginny smiles. "Cho, if Harry would do it - do you really think I'd say no?"

* * *

Time Travel's difficult, except that it's not.

It's not that Voldemort's an evil bastard, except that he is.

It's that Harry's dead, except that it isn't.

Ginny can go on. Contradiction after contradiction - it's all the same in the end. It'll work or it won't; it'll work and it won't.

"Here won't change," Cho says. "It's a divergent timeline. You're just... preventing this outcome, and generating a new one."

"Branching paths." Ginny says. She can think of so many choices, so many options that could have been taken. She thinks of Harry, and his eyes, and his terribly messy hair. She thinks of her brothers, all of them - Charlie and his Dragons, Bill and his curse-breaking and his scars, she thinks of Percy and his rules and his joke and then she thinks of Fred, and his last laugh, and then of George, of his mirroring death - and then of Ron, and then of Hermione, and then she thinks of Luna and Nevillie and -

"Yes," Cho says. "It's - quite simple, really. It's why when someone changes something in the past nothing really seems to change - except for specific circumstances. Major deviations from the path won't change this present, but a bloodline that really didn't end up doing anything spectacular can go without much consequence."

Cho doesn't look as old as she is now, Ginny thinks. It's kind of... sad, in a way. Her maturity shines through, but her face is young and scared and pale and sad and she's got what look like permanent tear tracks on her cheeks. Ginny would almost feel jealous, that Cho can wear such blatant displays of emotion like pride, but... Ginny does the same. She's just angry, in the place of being sad.

(If Ginny dies and comes back, she thinks her eyes might match her hair. Red's just such an _angry_ colour, she's found, and she's found that suits her just fine.

Let them cower. It's almost, hysterically, very _Gryffindor_ of her - this loud, violent self she's found comfort in being. _Let them fear her._ It's easier, certainly; allows them more mercy than they might have gotten otherwise, for being _complicit._ For being her family's, her friends', _killers.)_

"So how do we do it?" Ginny asks.

"I do this ritual," She says, gesturing to her parchment. "And then I kill you."

Dramatic, but lacking in emotion. If it doesn't work, Ginny'll just come back anyway.

"Right," She said. "Go on then."

"You have to chose when to go back to," Cho says, and Ginny already knows when, and knows where.

It would be easy. It would be so easy, and it would be cathartic, and it would be awful, the worst thing she's ever done -  
  
But everyone's gone. Everything. From her family and her friends, she's all that's left, and fuck if she's going to let the bastard win.  
  
All she has to do is wring his neck, his tiny, little, defenseless neck, and then obliviate all the muggles. It's easy, its simple, it's the worst fucking thing she'll ever do - it's dark beyond belief, but by this point...  
  
Ginny doesn't care much.  
  
(Also... horcruxes are worse than killing Tom Riddle, even when he's a defenseless, vulnerable, evil little baby.)

Cho nods, as if seeing her decision. Her eyes are glassy but hard, and Ginny knows Cho has her own personal vendettas, too.

_Hey, everyone, Potterwatch update is a go. Champion, here, as a guest speaker - hey, Champion._

"Alright then, Champion," Ginny says. "Ritual me."

* * *

Ginny doesn't think anybody else knows, but she also doesn't much care about that. The fewer people in the know, the better, and anyway, it's not like anything would change for them.

Just for her. It's utterly selfish, really, thinking about it. Ginny's pretty certain Cho knows it, too, because there was more than enough of the materials needed than for one person.

Ginny's not the only one Cho's sending back, and she's not the only one Cho's sending back before _Cho._ There's an important distinction. Ginny and Cho might be selfish, but it was selfless, letting Ginny go first.

Cho might go back to the fourth task, Ginny thinks, as Cho finishes up the preparations. Save Cedric, figure things out from there. It'd be doable. It'd be selfish, but - they're all selfish. They just want this to _end,_ one way or another, and Ginny isn't denying Cho her happy ending.

Nor is she denying her own. Leaving her horcrux here is probably going to have some interesting effects on immortality. Maybe it'll sever the connection completely, and she'll be mortal again - but probably not. For her to be there she's had to have been _here,_ after all. It's frame of reference; this present will be the past, not the future. What happened happened, and the timelines will branch, because for all intents and purposes, 1926 is her future, not the past.

And so will be 1991, 2, 3...

(Ginny _will_ get her happy ending, even if it isn't _this_ Ginny. Ginny will make _certain_ of it.)

"There might be some - issues," Cho warned. "When you're born, I'm not sure what'll happen."

Ginny shrugged. Cho sighed, and shrugged to, and beginned the incantation.

Ginny focused hard on the 31st of December, 1926, Wool's Orphanage - so hard, in fact, that she didn't even notice Cho's soft but firm _"Diffindo."_ It slices open Ginny's neck, and the slash is so deep she's dead within seconds.

(Avada Kedavra destroys souls. It's the only spell you are instructed _specifically not to use.)_

Cho sighs, and cleans up. She knows it worked - Ginny's bound spirit didn't show itself, ready to be stuffed back into her body, or a new one.

So. Time to ask the others.

* * *

But that doesn't matter, because that's not the story we're following.

* * *

It was simple. Very, very simple.

Ginny stumbled back into existance outside Wool's Orphanage, just as a near-dead Merope Gaunt stumbled towards the door.

"Avada Kedavra," Ginny said, raising her wand and speaking the words without thinking. Merope dropped dead. Ginny wouldn't get to strangle Tom Riddle Jr, unfortunately, but she would get to stop his birth, which was probably safer anyway.

"Diffindo," Ginny said. Once. Twice. Thrice. "Evanesco."

Ginny sighed. "Tergo," She said, to get the blood out of the cobbles.

Right. Ginny frowned.

That was... Done.

Voldemort was dead. Ginny stared out into the dark night. The lamplights of 1920s muggle london did nothing for the visibility, so Ginny knew she was safely shadowed away from sight where she was stood - but, all the same, Ginny cast _homenum revello,_ and found not a single soul that was in the right place to have seen her.

Satisfied, Ginny apparated. She appeared not two blocks from the Ministry, and had a quick glance around. There weren't many muggles out at this time, not ones you'd want to interact with, anyway, and she had to be careful about not being seen dressed as she was with her wand out and her infamiliarity with the location - muggle london was a mystery to her, still; the Ministry and it's surrounding area were no-go zones, for those that opposed Voldemort. Surrey was the closest they could get - but she did manage it, and Ginny broke into a clothes store.

From what she knew, wizarding fashion had gone in a more traditional direction over the century - but near the beginning, it had been very much influenced by non-magical society. Useful, at this moment, if odd (why had the trends gone _backwards?),_ and Ginny got herself an outfit that wouldn't look out-of-place but still felt comfortable on her skin.

Well. It was _expensive_ muggle attire, so it would feel odd regardless of the style - but Ginny pushed through that. It wasn't like she'd _paid_ anything for it, anyway, and if she just left her now useless DA galleon on the desk the solid gold circle should probably cover some of the cost.

So... well she _had_ paid something for it, but not something she particularly needed. Wizarding currency changed, too, and she couldn't very well give them that galleon. It was _eight decades_ too early.

"Alright, get it together Ginny." Ginny said, quietly, to herself. She'd _have_ to rob somebody, probably, but she didn't know who she'd feel okay with robbing at this point. She didn't really _know_ anything about this time period, to be frank, and now she was stuck here.

Or. Well, not _really,_ but kind of. If she wanted to make sure killing Tom Riddle didn't fuck up some future nonsense, she had to stick it out - and she was nothing if not stubborn, these days. She would, at the very least, stick it out to make doubly certain that little Ginny and Harry and Ron and Hermione and Neville and Luna and Colin and _everyone_ could live _**fucking normal lives.**_

Giny straightend her shoulders. She had work to do.

* * *

So. Grindlewald. That was easy; she just didn't interfere. She kept her head down and let Dumbledore and Grindlewald duke it out - though, truthfully, it was annoying how long it was taking for Dumbledore to do _anything._

Ah, fuck it. She doesn't want Dumbledore to make _Scamader,_ of all people (Not that he was incapable, just that _he didn't want to be involved at all)_ into one of his little soliders.

He already had one. _Dumbledore's Army._ Hah. She might be the only member here, if any - but. It's _her job,_ damnit.

"Professor." She said. "What a surprise," She couldn't help saying; and it kind of was. She was certain he was a Transfiguration professor at this point, but. Whatever.

Dumbledore, the Defense-Against-The-Dark-Arts teacher, was pointing his wand at her, eyes clouded and countenance wary.

"Who are you?" He inquired, tone hard.

"Ginny," She said. Ginny dropped off the desk, and looked around. Plain. Bare. Given Dumbledore's future office, it looked... bland.

Odd.

"Don't move." Dumbledore ordered. Ginny shrugged, but complied.

"Who are you?" He repeats. "Who do you work for?"

"Oh," Ginny shrugged. "No-one, not anymore. Our leader died over a decade ago. It's just me, now. A soldier with no purpose," She said, truthful. "No battle to fight. Or so I thought."

Dumbledore does his version of narrowing his eyes at her. It's so strange, to see him so young.

"Dark Lords are gryphon shit levels of awful," She said, "We fought one. We lost. I won. He's dead. So are the rest of my team." She shrugged, again, hollow. Ginny had no reason to lie - even if he killed her, it wouldn't matter. Her mission was accomplished, really. She wanted to try and get to her modern day, to make sure, but she was pretty certain that things would go just fine after Grindlewald in Magical Britain without Tom to mess things up.

"Who?" Dumbledore asked. Her Occlumency shields were up tight, but she'd never been good at detecting anyone attacking them. Hopefully, he'd let her keep her secrets, for now, and would leave them be, later.

Fuck, she could've done with some Felix Felicis for this.

"No one you'd know," She grinned, wolfishly, at him. "That's the point."

He frowned, lightly. Confused, maybe, but Ginny had never professed to being able to read the professor.

"Incarcerous," He said, instead of any other possible response. Ginny shrugs and lets it happen. There were probably better ways of joining the past than coming straight to Dumbledore who was _just_ post-Grindlewald, but. Whatever.

She'd made worse mistakes.

"You are going to be interrogated." Dumbledore told her. "And then we'll decide what to do with you."

* * *

De-aging potions were a weird grey-area. If Ginny could take some, run away to america, take some more, hide out in an orphanage and alter her appearance as she grew, she could look different enough that she could hide out until the nineties.

Maybe the seventies. Ginny's not sure she could stay away from England for _that_ long. It'd make her antsy. England's the only place she's ever really known, and - it's hers. In a way. She fought so hard to keep it from Voldemort; she'd love to just bask here in a time of peace.

But the 20s. 30s. 40s. Not a time of piece, not by a long shot.

Alright. Ginny's strapped to a chair, there's veritaserum in her system, her shields are down, and she's fucked, but what else is new.

"Professors," She says.

"You're awake."

"Killing a dark lord'll do that to you," She said, yawning. "What'd you hit me with?"

"Stupefy," Dumbledore said. Huh. Ginny hadn't used or seen such a - _benevolent_ spell in... too long.

"Oh." She said. "Damn. That's quaint."

"You're a mystery, Ginny." Dumbledore said, sitting down. "We'd like for you to cast away the fog, but first: What is your name?"

"Ginny," She grinned at him.

"Full name."

"Ginevra."

"Full name, including first, middle, and last."

"Ginevra Molly Weasley." She shrugged. "Been easier to ask that first."

"Indeed." He watched her, warily, for a moment. Then:

"You killed a dark lord. Was he dangerous?"

"Yes? Obviously!" She rolled her eyes. Maybe not at the time she killed him, sure, but he was - _Voldemort._ More dangerous than anyone else she'd ever heard of.

"When you killed him?"

"I killed him, so not to me, logically," Ginny said. "Otherwise _I'd_ be the dead one."

"Hmm."

Ginny frowned at the auburn-haired man.

"Can you be killed, Ginevra Weasley?"

"Yeah," Ginny said. Sure. Ginny could be killed. At least, the one that'll be in a few decades. This Ginny, though, she's not so sure.

Dumbledore nodded. "Alright. Did you go to Hogwarts, Ginevra?"

"Ginny," She said, "Please - and, yeah. In a sense."

"In a sense?" He asked.

"Never one of your students, so you won't remember me." Which was partially true. He'd been the headmaster - not technically a teacher. She'd been in his school, but hadn't been his student, technicallly. He'd never taught her anything.

"I see."

"What else?" Ginny asked.

"When were you born, Ginny?"

"I'm not sure," She said, because it was true. Nobody knew the exact time of their birth after all.

Dumbledore frowned. "Are you an orphan?"

"Yeah," Ginny said. Her parents were dead, and not yet born. She was as good as.

Dumbledore's frown turned sympathetic.

"Where are you from, Ginny?"

"Here," She said. "England."

Dumbledore nodded. "Do you mean any harm, Ginny?"

"To you? No. To Grindlewald? Yeah. To the general populace? Can't say. Don't know 'em. To right gits? Sure. I'd punch 'em. Too general a question, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore inclines his head.

"Anything else?" Ginny asks.

"What were you planning?" He asks.

"I was planning on helping," She said. "With the threat. Whatever it was, whatever threat Grindlewald posed, I was planning on helping, and I was hoping that'd get you to leave Newt out of it. He's just a magizoologist, and he doesn't want any part of this, not really. You're roping him in, just leave him be. Let real soldiers handle the work."

"Are you a soldier, Ginny Weasley?"

"Yeah," She said. "Used to have the badge to prove it. Sold it for some clothes, though. Funny, when you lose everyone you had shit like that doesn't matter anymore."

"No," Dumbledore said, sadly. "No, I supose it doesn't. Tea, Miss Weasley?"

"Ginny, please," She repeated. "Sure, Dumbledore."

He nodded, and set about making a pot. "How old are you, Ginny?"

"Twenty-Eight, but I bet I look forty," She snorted. Grey hairs and scars; price of the life she lives. "Not a werewolf though, so don't worry. Just do a lot of fighting."

And worrying, and grieving, and - but he doesn't need to know that.

"You don't look a day over thirty," He assured her, and honestly, it was whatever, but it was nice to hear - "Miss Weasley, I assure you. How long have you been fighting?" He asked. Everything from what he said to his coutnenace to the way he made the tea was supposed to relax her, she knew; a calculated move. But she hadn't relaxed in a long time, and no amount of tea was going to change that, espeically when she'd stopped liking the stuff years ago.

One poisoning incident and it ruins your tastebuds forever. Fucking shame, really. She'd _liked_ tea.

Ginny drank dutifully anway, which probably surprised Dumbledore; he shifted in his place a little oddly, as if he'd expected her to try and - oh, Ginny doesn't know, throw it in his face? Her wand isn't in her posession so it's not like she could have tried to check for poisons or for other potions if she wanted to, so she just drank.

"The veritaserum is wearing off," She reminded him. "And - it's been a long time. Feels like almost a century," She sighed, and laughed inwardly. He took it as the joke it was, though she'd meant it in the way that it was _technically true,_ while he was just trying to respect her appartently dark humour. Maybe he thought it was a coping mechanism, who fucking knew.

Anyway. His lips quirked up as his eyes stayed solem, just as hers did.

"Look," Ginny said, "I can fight. I can fight well. I want to help, if I can, really."

"Alright." Dumbledore said. "But since Grindlewald is in custody at this moment, there might be something for you to do while he is, to keep your mind off of things."

"In custody?" Ginny frowns. She thinks back on her memories of what she studied - and, oh yes, there was that point in time when Grindlewald was with the Americans, wasn't there? Because...

Oh.

"You want me to see if I can find Graves, don't you?" She asked. History of Magic _for the win,_ she's _so glad_ she studied this instead of the goblin rebellions she should have been.

"Astute inferance," He smiled at her. "Yes, I believe I do."

"I'm not much of a tracker." She said. "Was it even polyjuice?"

"It was," He said. "Which means..."

"Graves has to be alive." She said. "But - why would he use polyjuice? What would he _gain?_ Drinking on the hour every hour is _fucking suspicious behaviour."_

"Which is why he assigned himself active duty, I would imagine," Dumbledore said. "And, I believe, so long as you do not go more than an hour without drinking, you can top-up throughout the hour. And Graves was not one known to _not_ have a coffee at hand, which I imagine helps quite greatly."

"And complicated matters," Ginny said, irritably.

"And adding a bit of a _kick_ to one's drink isn't so uncommon, either," Dumbledore added, and Ginny's eyes flicked to the liquour cabinet. What the fuck was with this time-period and everyone having expensive shit, Ginny had no idea.

"So he hid it in a decanter or flask or something and pretended he was just an alcoholic workaholic bastard and nobody thought twice?"

"Some did." Dumbledore said, but didn't say any more. He didn't have to.

"Alright, fuck, I'll find Graves," Ginny said. "But you owe me one. I'm a fighter, not - some, knight in shining armour. Never rescued any damsels in distress, if you get me."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled for the first time since she'd met the younger version of the man, which was - odd. For it to have not happened until now; for it to have happened at all.

"I do believe that one was a lie, Ginny," He said, smiling. "Now. Ferry, or Cruise Ship?"

* * *

"international Portkeys are dangerous because of your mission" "you said it yourself, you don't have any papers", and other paraphrased statements are why Ginny finds herself lounging on the deck of a Cruise Ship in 20s swimwear, just enjoying the sun.

Some asshole blocks her view, and she scowls up at him while the shadow the man casts starts to make the nippy ocean air more obvious. "Oi," She said. "You're blocking my sun."

Have it note that this is the 20s, and these are muggles. Ginny knows what that could mean for a lone woman, but she's nothing if not prepared, even if the latter means she can't use magic on then in an obvious way.

A snort, and the man glances behind himself. He gives a double-take at her appearnce - the scars, probably... maybe they irritate his sensibilities? Well, regardless, he scoffs.

"Rude bint aren't ya?" He said.

"And you're a rude cunt, too, mate," She said. "Budge. I'm in _recovery_ ," She said, bringing a hand up to her forehead and feigning a faint as she put on a mocking voice. "So if you don't mind."

That _definitely_ shocked his sensibilites, but his friend laughed uproariously. "Crazy bint. D'you even know who we are?"

"Not a clue," She said, cheerfully. "That your wife over there?" She asked, pointing. The woman looked uncomfortable with the man talking to her, and the guy with a sense of humour scowled at him. "Yeah," He said, gruffly, and stormed off.

"I'm Thomas Riddle," The older man said, and with a jolt Ginny sat up and looked at him.

Huh. So Tommy Sr. Was actually Tommy Jr, huh? So Tom was Tom the third, really.

Ginny grinned at him. _Oh,_ Tom would have **hated** that.

"Ginevra Weasley," She greeted back, holding out her hand to shake. He took it, and kissed her knuckles in that weird old-timey way, and when he pulled back she snorted then shook his hand, firmly.

"Good grip, for a woman," He observed, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"What do you do for a living, Miss Weasley?" He asked.

"Eh, this and that," She said.

"Might I assume some... unsavoury methods of money aquisiton?"

Ginny shrugged. Well, it'd been how she got her clothes earlier, so there was no point lying about having not stolen stuff when she had.

He nodded, seemingly perfectly fine with this, and Ginny rolled her eyes at him again.

Obviously, the moral issues Riddle had ran in _both_ sides of the family.

"You might want to know," Ginny said, quietly. "But - I was hired," She said, "Dunno who, but they really wanted this Merope woman dead."

Thomas blinked, slowly.

"Merope?" He inquired. Ah. So he _did_ know her.

"Yeah. Merope Gaunt. Pregnant as fuck - alone. Easy money really, bastard never paid me though."

"Yes, well, that's rather unfair." Thomas said. "May I invite you to dine with us tonight? My son, Tom, he... knew Merope. He'll be - well, the news will be best delivered _in person,_ if you may."

"Right," She said. "Forced fatherhood, then?"

"Youthful stupidity," He said, with scorn.

"She was a weird one," Ginny said. "Got me good. Don't underestimate a woman, _Tommy_ , especially not one like Merope."

(Ginny had one this before. Subterfuge, lies, all of it. It wasn't her favourite part of war - but it had to be done. At least it helped, here.)

"Hmm." He said, assessing her. "What brings you on this cruise, Ginevera?"

She grinned, sharp. Hair like fire, eyes like stone. "Oh, _boy,_ do you not want to know, Tommy."

* * *

"What will you do once you reach America, Ginevera?"

"Find a place to camp out," She said. "What about you?"

"We have a place there, for holidays," Mrs. Riddle - Irene - said, smiling happily. "You're welcome to stay with us - for all you've done for us, we'd love to play host. It's the least we can do."

Ginny hadn't _meant_ to do anything for them. She didn't actually _like_ the Riddles, up and abandoning a kid they _had_ to have known existed and all, even if he was a bastard as people like this in this time period used to care about. It didn't fucking matter the circumstances of his birth; he was still their son's kid.

But. Whatever. She'd killed Merope and Tom, so they owed her one, apparently.

Post WW1, Hermione had told her once, Englad had had it's fair share of problems with Gangs.

"Oh, we had gangs before then," She'd said, waving a hand. "But the war - it left people more desperate than before. Angry." Hermione had sighed, pursed her lips. "I don't want that to happen here, once _He's_ dead."

Every name for him except The Dark Lord, including all the mocking ones (for obvious reasons), was taboo. You couldn't say them out loud, except for Tom, and except for Riddle, because that would give his game away.

But most didn't know that part. So everyone just used 'He', and he never taboo-ed it, because how would that even work?

It almost seemed like - but the Riddles were... close to aristocracy, she thought. They certainly lived in splendor, though she supposed she had no knowledge of how they aquired such.

Hmm. Gamg ties were plausible, she supposed.

"I... cannot thank you enough," Tom said, stiffly. Probably from having to thank a woman for saving him from a woman, but, whatever. It was kind of funny, really. Seeing them all bluster like this.

Still. She can't _wait_ until the nineties, again. By that point, she thinks she'll be sufficiently all annoyed about their behaviour. It's just so funny, for now; she's seen so much, killed so many - it's funny to her, that all they see is a woman.

"Mention it," She grinned, stabbing at her steak with her fork and then cutting into it. "I'd like repayment in money, if that's all good with you. The hospitality's great, and I might take you up on that when I get back to England -" After all, she really didn't have a place there, but she could probably weasel her way into the Golstiens good graces - "But I'm in dire need of some funds."

"When you get back?"

"Well, I'm not finishing the cruise," She grinned. "Sticking around here until - oh, July, maybe. Been hired to find someone of importance. But, fuck, you never know. Expect me whenever, and I mean it."

"Of course," Sr. inclined his head, and that was that. 'Man of the house', and all that twenties bullshit.

"Well," Irene smiled at her, as brittle as before. She probably sympathises more with what her son's been through than his dad does, Ginny thinks. "You're always welcome at our table, Miss Weasley."

"Please, Irene," Ginny smiled, and ate a bite of steak with relish. "Call me Ginny."

* * *

She touched down on American soil with a suticase full of clothes, parchment, quills, some ink, some books she might need on magics she will need, and more cash than she knows what to do with.

They really _must_ have Gang ties. She can't explain the money otherwise. Fuck, she doesn't know American history all that well, do they have the same problem? Are the Riddles here for a vacation or for _buisness?_

Fuck. Who knows, who cares, not her problem unless it kills some innocent kid.

Ginny finds an alley and apparates to the MACUSA headquarters. She does as she's told, registers her wand, yadda yadda. Dumbledore's already done something, and the dark haired Goldstein vouches for her, and then Queenie looks in her eyes and smiles and everyone relaxes, which, what.

"Oh, honey," She said. "You've had a long trip, c'mon, I'll get ya some coffee."

Ginny follows the blonde into the break-room, clutching her suitcase (feather-light) to her front almost absently.

"Be careful with that," Queenie said, "Y' don't wan' the wrong person t' see. Don't worry," She smiled, "I don't know how you got it. I only get the surface, y' see."

"You're a legilimens," Ginny relaxes. Okay. She can't get past the surface. Fucking lie if she's ever heard one, and as bald faced as they come, but. Sure. Whatever.

Queenie smiles at her. "Here ya go, honey."

Ginny takes the coffee, and it's just milky and bitter enough that she takes pause, because she's never actually had coffee before, but Queenie's got it just right.

Ginny blinks, narrows her eyes at Queenie, thinks ' _surface my arse'_ and Queenie lets out a giggle, light and airy. "Sorry, honey," She said. "Force of habit." Queenie sits, gracefully, on the chair opposite. "I get a lot," She said. "Like... barriers aren' there, for me. I'm sorry," She said, and she sounded genuine enough. "I get why you did it," Queenie said. "You won' get no protest from me. Jus' don't tell my sister."

There are records about Queenie Goldstien. Ginny studied them. Looking at the blond, she can't see half of them coming true.

 _What happened to you?_ She wondered, but then realised that might be rude.

Queenie paled, and stared.

Oh. Oops.

* * *

"Please don't tell anyone," Ginny all but begs once Queenie locks the apartment door behind her. "Please - I - _Merlin_ I'm sorry I didn't -"

"Honey," Queenie says, "Honey, I'm not, I won't - I can't, alright, I'm not - I'm not _stupid,_ I've done this my whole life, keepin' quiet about this sort'a thing-"

Ginny lets out a dry, heaving sob of relief, and just about passes out on the couch.

* * *

It goes like this:

It's simple, but it's not.

Queenie keeps quiet, calls her honey, makes her coffee, sneaks out to see her no-maj boyfriend. Ginny thanks her, calls her brave in her own head, Queenie smiles, Tina frowns, and Ginny researches. Tina works, and Tina works, and Tina writes to Newt, and Tina works. She drinks badly made coffee and cries in her bedroom at half-past one in the morning every thursday, as if to reset some clock or another, and the cycle starts again.

Ginny's okay with this. It's a simpler arrangement than she'd have thought - it's a nicer apartment than she'd have thought. Queenie takes her to Jacob's bakery once, and they're - so cute. She can't help but tell them about England's marriage laws, and how they could always use more bakeries, because they deserve to be happy and they'll be drawn into this war anyway. At leat in England she can keep them safe. Tina and Queenie let her tag along to MACUSA to interview people - interrogate softly - and scare away the newbies, and she always ends up doing some form of instruction because they're all so _useless,_ which some people find hilarious for some reason.

Merlin. Ginny stops in her tracks. _She's become Mad-Eye._

But still. Constant Vigilance. She strikes a hand out and grabs the invisible person to her left, casting the counter as she swings around to look them in the face.

"You've been in battle before." The auror notes.

"Fuck you." She hissed. Not literally, because she didn't know parseltongue, but close.

Her mouth still remembered the patterns. He paled a little, but stood firm, which might have been stubborness but might have been bravery.

Either way. She stepped back.

"Weasley, wasn't it?" He asked.

"Yeah." She said. "You?"

"Abernathy," He said. Hmm. She didn't remember him in the history books, but that might've been because he was a nameless MACUSA stooge or a nameless Grindlewald Supporter. Hard to say.

What was his job again? She might've been wrong in the auror assessment. Wasn't he Tina's supervisor, or something, before she got reinstated as an auror?

Hmm. She'd ask later.

"Where were you going?" Abernathy asks.

"Where I'm always going," She said. "Unless you want another interview about what you know of Mr. Graves -"

"We've said all that we know," He said, firmly. "You've exhauseted all these avenues - Weasley, I hate to say it I really do but he's gone."

"Not until I see the body," She hisses again, and then _she's_ gone.

Ah, invisibility. Ah, wordless spells. Abernathy tries to grab at where she was, probably to lecture her some more, but she's already gone.

Ginny stops outside Graves' office. She cancels the dissilusionment, and wanders on in. It's off-limits, but a twist and a tug here and there and apparently she's gotten acess somehow. Ginny doesn't question it.

Ginny has a poke around. And, she swears to _Merlin,_ if she finds him locked in a box she will murder something.

She finds him locked in a box. Not quite dead, definitely not in any shape to be alive, though. She stares, yells incoherantly, then closes and locks the box, feather-light spells it, and sprints down the hallway. She opens it in the middle of the atrium, just in case anyone wanted to try and stop her from revealing him, and then -

There's pandemonium.

* * *

"For your services, that you offered here, willingly, and what you accomplished when nobody-"

"Lady, why the fuck did nobody check the _merlin-be-damned box!"_

"Miss Weasley-" Seraphina sighed, and pinched her forehead. "We are looking into that _pronto._ As it stands -"

"I don't want a medal," Ginny said. That's _far_ too much publicity, and she saw where that got Harry.

"It's honourable," Seraphina said and sure - go with that - "But I can't be seen to not acknowledge what you've done."

"Hey how about this," Ginny said. "Let magicals marry muggles. Boom."

"Yes, boom - they'd blow me up." Seraphina narrowed her eyes at her. "Whatever it's like in England-"

"Yes! Point at England. We're doing well, aren't we?" At this point; still the British Empire for the Muggles, and though the disbanding of that didn't effect the magical word (nor did it's creation, mind you; 1600s, remember?) that counts for something; because it shows the muggles haven't done much with the knowledge of magic that very few of them have and truly do keep to themselves, hoepefully? Look Ginny's no politician. She just wants people to be happy, is that so much to ask?

(No matter how many people she has to kill along the way. Ginny thinks of Fudge, and thinks she can probably muster up _more_ than enough pitying hatred to get him out of the picture, but she doesn't really want to, and anyway, that's ages away. She'll just vote for someone else.)

"That's the _problem."_ Seraphina sighed. "Our relations have always been - dicey."

"Eh." Ginny rolled her eyes. "That's the muggles' war. Magical America and Magical England? Two wholly different things."

"A Gaunt founded our school," Seraphina said, sharply.

"... Weren't there like, muggles in that legend too, or something?" Ginny tries to shift through her brain for infomation, but comes up lacking. Seraphina sighs, though, so maybe she was right.

"Look," Seraphina said. "It's too early in my career for any of that anyway. You get a medal, some money, and you will smile for the camera. Please."

 Ginny blinked. "Oh, wait, I'm an idiot. Can I get citizenship and uhm, an education certificate, or whatever it is, please."

Seraphina blinked at her.

"I don't exist," Ginny offered, helpfully, and Seraphina allowed herself a moment of weakness, and squeezed her eyes shut, pained, as she summoned the cheap bourbon.

* * *

Ginny kept an eye on Mr. Graves as he recovered. She appointed herself as his personal guardian witch, for lack of anything else to do and also, she'd saved his arse, she didn't want to waste that on some idiot Grindlewald Supporter with a good cover story and a spell-happy wand.

"Oi, you lot, he's waking," She said, jolting the mediwizards and witches and healers and lawyers and aurors into action.

Fuck, that's way too many people.

"OI" She yelled, and cast quick-fire impedimentias at them all. "Fuck off! One at a time, you dolts."

"This is very important - more so than - who are you, anyway?" One blustered. "Miss, I _must_ ask you to refrain from curses and jinxes in the _hospital, please -"_ (That one she conceeded on, and put away her wand in sign of agreement with) "Don't be ridiculous! He needs looking over - he just owke up from a medical coma, you vultures can wait-"

"Oh my god," A woman piped up, "Come on, please, boss, let's let the medics do their work."

"Their _worst,_ you mean," A man grumbled in response. Lawyer, she knew - tall, broad across the shoulders. His assistant was muggleborn, but Varius Cornwell was not. "Everyone. Out. Let the medical staff addle the man's brain further."

And one by one, everyone was ushered out. The aurors left to stand guard - Tina among them, chief on the operation of 'get the aurors out of the room while the lawyers aren't there' - and then it was just the mediwizards and witches and healers and Ginny.

"What?" She asked, pushing her sleeves up. She'd transfigured herself some fucking _jeans_ today, because she deserved them, thank you very much, for dealing with this bullshit, and she'd ignored all the looks she'd gotten. Ginny had borrowed the blouse from Queenie, though, one the blonde had never worn, and the sleeves were too long for this sort of thing, so up they went. "I'm helping. Not the first time I've found a man in a box."

Lies. But they don't know that. She did know what to do, though; everyone was a feild medic, when nobody knew who would get hit hardest.

"Alright, fine!" One threw his hands up. His eyebags had bags and he looked like he hadn't eaten in a week, which seemed like a bad example to set in a hospital. "Go on then!"

They all set to work, cross-referencing diagnostic spells as the man woke.

"You could apply for a healer's liscence," One mediwitch commented. "Then you could appoint yourself -"

"Done, dusted, I'll get it through," Ginny said. "Still got some wiggle room from the whole 'saved the department head' thing."

The woman nodded, awkwardly. Maybe Ginny was being rude, but she _also_ had eyebags on her eyebags and hadn't eaten in about a day.

But she'd headed off one assassination attempt, so. Worth it. Not Grindlewald's, though, just some idiot.

"Mr. Graves," One Mediwizard, Crow, said gravely. "I'd advise you keep still for a moment, we're just checking your vitals. Henrietta - she'll explain the situation."

"Percival," Henrietta said, "You were kidnapped-"

"I am fully aware of what happened," Graves said, and his voice was hoarse but sharp and clear. Huh. Resilliant, that one. "How is my department?"

"Alright," Ginny fills in. "Hi. I rescued you."

Graves blinks at her. "You're promoted," He said, though that was probably the potions. "Who are you?" He added, which confirmed that ten fold.

Yeah. No lawyers or aurors until the potions wore off. Well. Maybe Tina.

"Ginny." Ginny said, then, belated, "Weasley."

Graves nodded. "I must thank you."

"Not that hard to find, really; I didn't find you sooner because the incompetant assholes didn't think to look in the box in your office and I didn't get clearance until three months in," She said, scowling. "It's _always_ the box in the office."

"I'll keep that in mind," Graves said, dry, and was that humour? She looked at him, suspiciously. This man was doing _far_ too well right now.

Oh. Right. The potions. Yeah, she's gonna stick to his side like fucking glue when they wore off. This wasn't pleasant for anyone, being captured and to"tured and used.

"I appear to have some blanks in my memory," He said, not as perturbed as he should be. He frowned, figuring that out rather quickly, then scowled.

"You've been assigned a mind healer," Henrietta said.

"I vetted him," Ginny added. "And Tina. And Seraphina, weirdly. I'm on first name basis with the American prime minister, nice." She grinned to herself, then shook her head. Damn, she really _was_ tired.

"President," Graves corrected, absently, but his eyes were on her like a hawk. Damn. She'd been found out. "Send in Goldstien. Rest."

"Alright," Ginny said. Tina was good, she'd do fine.

* * *

So. Graves; safe, as he can be. Jacob and Queenie; getting their affairs in order and booking it to England. Newt; somewhere. Tina; as good as can be expected.

Ginny; not sure what to do.

Huh. Ginny frowned at herself in the mirror. Sometimes, she didn't recognise the woman that looked back - greying already, scars littering her form, an odd, imbalanced slant to her shoulders that she'd learned to cater for years ago and didn't even notice these days.

Sometimes, she looked in the mirror and expected who she was. Back then.

Once.

Ginny sighed. "You look lovely, dear," The mirror said, and she sighed again. "Thanks," She said, and adjusted the dress again.

Fucking functions. She'd never been to one - she'd loved parties, when she was a teenager, when things were nicer and she'd kissed Harry Potter on one of the best days of her life -

But she wasn't young anymore. Fuck, she knew who she looked like. She looked like _Remus._

Merlin. She'd felt awful for him before, but now it was - now she knew what it was like.

Morgana.

"Hon- oh." Queenie stepped into the room and closed the door.

"Curse scars," Ginny said, shrugging. "Nothing to be done."

"Oh, _honey,"_ Queenie said, and pulled her into a hug. It was _stupid,_ she was **older** than this woman, for Merlin's sake, but - but -

Fuck, it'd been a long time since she'd been hugged. She'd forgotten how much she missed the comfort, and wasn't that fucking _sad?_

It was stupid, it was weak, it was fucking _sad,_ and Ginny ruined Queenie's new dress.

"Don' need to be," Queenie said, before Ginny could apologise. She didn't really want to talk right now, anyway. Ginny used to have all the words, all the _fucking words,_ but - _gah._

Queenie was as pretty as Fleur as smart as Cho and as kind as Luna, and Ginny missed everyone so _terribly._

"It's okay to, y'know?" Queenie said, "You lost them, to a _war_. It's okay to grieve, honey."

"They're not- " Ginny tried.

"They are to you," Queenie said, "Y'know what? Honey, put on something comphy. We're goin' to the lake."

"But-"

"No buts, no nothin', the party's jus' for show, anyway, an' it's Tina's turn to play the heroine," Queenie took Ginny by the arm, and linked them at the elbow. "C'mon," Queenie said, transfiguring her outfit with a few flicks of her wand, and Ginny sighed.

They hadn't been taught that. Back then, it almost looked like magic that seemed so hard in the nineties was common place.

"What d'you wan', honey?"

Ginny had always liked muggle clothing. Their dad had passed love for at least one muggle thing onto each of his kids -and Ginny's was the clothes. Jeans and cardigans and shirts and tank-tops and - and everything. She'd never had the money for anything new, though; she was always stuck with the muggle clothes they could find, sixties and seventies hand-me-downs. Ginny had never had the same issues with it as Ron had had, mind, but then - she hadn't had it shoved in her face every day that her best friends just... weren't poor. Hermione spent so much money on books Ron went green, and Harry - had money but just didn't use it. Ron got that - Ginny knew why Harry didn't use it, Ron knew why, but... to have it and to do nothing with it - Ron and Ginny _both,_ neither of them knew why he didn't at least buy something to wear during the school year.

They'd have kept it all safe for him at the Burrow. Even _Fred and George would have left it all alone._ He must have known that, right?

Merlin's - gah. There were so many things she never got to ask him.

"Oh." Ginny said, quietly. The jumper her mum had made her that last Christmas - her favourite shirt, ratty and old and terrible as it was - but, Merlin, it was the softest thing she owned - and those _jeans,_ she hasn't seen those in _years,_ they got torn to shreds in one of the first battles - and her _boots,_ it'd taken them ages to save up for a good pair - but she cried when she realised the t-shirt she wore underneath was that _stupid fucking blue crew neck with the black collar_ he'd never fucking gotten rid of -

"He never - " She sucked in a breath and laughed, bitter, sad tears - "He never fucking took this thing off, I _swear-"_

"It's alright," Queenie whispered, soothing. "Let it out. That's it, honey."

"I _loved him,"_ She said, between sobs, "Merlin, I fucking _loved_ that **_idiot-"_**

With a soft pop, not a loud crack, and the slightest feeling in her gut, Ginny noted they were elsewhere.

"Meet my mom." Queenie said, quietly. "And my dad."

Ginny looked down at the graves. They didn't have headstones. Expensive fuckers, headstones. She got it.

"Hi." Ginny said, kneeling in the soft grass. "Hi, Goldstiens."

Queenie smiled, a soft, watery thing. "Lost to war," She said. "Europe. No-Majs, fighting it out."

"Oh," She said, softly. "Oh I'm so -"

"It's okay," She sat down next to Ginny, mindless of the grass stains she might get. "Let's go to the lake, honey."

The two stood, then walked down to the lake. Queenie summoned up some pebbles, and Ginny let out a broken laugh-sob, but she took them.

"They're gone," Queenie said. "And you won't see them. Probably ever, not as they were. I'm sorry, honey. Who were they?"

"My family," Ginny said, and tossed out - Morgana. Too many pebbles. One for each of her family, her friends, her aquaintances.

One for Harry.

One for herself.

"C'mon, honey." Queenie said. "Let's go home."

* * *

 

To be honest, Ginny felt better after that. If she needed to, on the harder nights, when looking at herself felt impossible, Ginny would go out to the lake and throw pebbles, one for all those lost.

One for herself. Because she was lost, too.

The third time, she did it in order.

Harry.

Ron and Hermione.

Herself.

Cedric, Cho, Viktor, Fleur...

(It took a long time. She started over when she got it wrong, and Tina found her there when the sun was rising.

"C'mon, soldier." Tina said. "The sun's rising. Ginny - please. Tell me when you leave."

She does.)

* * *

Ginny won't leave until Grindlewald is caught, that's the thing. She's running on fumes and she knows it, and without a goal, she can't do anything.

But they won't put her on Dark Lord watch while she's freaking out. Ginny grits her teeth and passer her psych evals, and shares a commiserative glance with Graves.

He has them overhauled, because they're far too easy to fool. But he doesn't make her retake it, and they don't make him.

* * *

 

 June of 1927 arrives too soon.

Both Graves and Ginny are on the case (and she's going to be _so mad at Tina when she gets her arse back here why the fuck did you fuck off to Paris)_ when Grindlewald is going to be transfered.

Both of them expect the worst. It happens.

Magical battles are all like each other, in the end. Flying on a broom while trying to keep up with the carriage? Difficult, not common. Not impossible, not by a long shot, and Ginny's _good._ She duels with Grindlewald for a while, mostly by making use of her flying skills, and it's long enough as a distraction for Graves to show up, and they tag team the bastard but it's _not quite enough -_

Except Seraphina, of all people, shows up. Honestly, Ginny should stop adding 'of all people' to her name. Especially when Graves or - weirdly enough - Ginny herself is involved.

Maybe it's guilt. Maybe it's gratitude. Either way, she's here, and it's _enough._

Ginny casts "Expelliarmus!" As a last 'fuck you' and a tribute, and the wand flies into her hand.

The _Elder_ Wand.

Holy fuck she's _Dumbledore._

Grindlewald's not useless, though. He's good, still - too good, really. Seraphina falls, and Graves goes after her, and Ginny's - got the Deathstick, but...

Grildewald's not stupid, either. He's gone before she can blink.

* * *

 

"That's the _Elder Wand."_

"I know, I know! Fuck!" Ginny stares at it. She should snap it. She should break it.

She tries.

"That won't work," He says. "Fuck, Graves, I bloody well know it won't work!" Fuck, now she's starting to sound like _Ron._ Ginny lets out a bitter laugh, as she drops onto his couch.

Ghosts. She's made up of ghosts. How fucking _poetic;_ given her first year.

"I'm such a fucking target now."

"We already were," He says, and fuck if that man can't be scarily calm sometimes. It's unnerving, is what it is, and she's too much a Gryffindor to sit arround while unnerved.

"I'll - drop it in fucking lake, bury it in a mountain - I don't know!"

" _Sit,_ Ginny. I'll call Queenie to bring us some coffee."

Ginny sat.

Queenie brought them coffee. "Oh honey," Queenie smiles at her. "You do get yourself into the _most_ interesting situations."

"You should be in England," Ginny said, irritable. "... Thank you, Queenie," She added, apologetic.

_you get yourself into the most interesting situations._

_you get yourself into trouble._

Fuck, now she's **Harry.**

"How's the Primeinister?" Queenie asked.

"She's doing well," Graves said, as he looked over the reports on his desk. "As well as can be expected, given the circumstances. Damned vultures, trying to look for her weaknesses," He groused, glaring at the morning paper.

Honestly, Graves has more personality than a lot of those people she'd known at Hogwarts, back in the day. How anyone could have confused him for _Grindlwald_ (or, as she should really phrase it, Grindlwald for him) is astounding.

But then, she wasn't there.

"I'll kill them if they touch her bones," Ginny said, into her coffee.

"If only they'd let us have what the no-majs have in the... 'MI6', I believe, of yours, Ginny, I'd _gladly_ set you on the task."

"Noted," Ginny smiled.

(They're joking. Sort of.)

* * *

Grindlewald shows up in fucking _Paris,_ Dumbledore doesn't keep his word (what did I expect, Ginny thinks, bitterly), Jacob and Queenie move _again,_  because apparently the muggles are going to  _rain bombs_ on London.

Ginny knew this, but she didn't know - she hadn't seen the _extent._

But there was one thing that _wasn't_ _fucking_ _happening_ on her watch, than you very much. Ginny grabbed Leta, ignored the burn of the blue flames, and activated her emergency portkey.

It dropped them, very unceremoneously, in St. Mungo's. She'd made it herself, months ago, as a precaution, while she was in the preparation phase - before grindlewald escaped - and, well, here she fucking is, so it looks like it worked.

Good. Ginny vomited all over their nice clean floors, and passed out.

* * *

"She's a guardian angel, that's what she is," Jacob said.

Queenie smiled down at her unconscious friend, soft and sad. She'd been through so much - and she was so young. Not a few years older than Queenie herself.

Queenie knew more than she let on. But that was always the case - and... this was for the better. That Ginny didn't know what she knew the Weasley knew.

That had... always been the case. For as long as she could remember.

Queenie linked her arm with her husband's and squeezed, lightly. "Of course she is," She said. "And she's ours."

* * *

Leta survived. Ginny let out a breath she knew she couldn't have been holding while unconscious, and frowned. Yep. Definitely on the good stuff.

"Honey," Someone soft said. Blonde, gold, warm. Ginny smiled at her.

"Sunshine," Ginny slurred. There was a gigggle, and a soft pat on her arm. It was nice.

"Oh, she's fucking _out_ of it," Another voice said. There was a sound, like swatting. "Of course she is! She fought in a battle then used an unstable porkey across the channel! And got burned by that damned fire..."

Ginny frowned. The accent...

"Ottery St..," She slurred. "Y're from Ott'ry."

"See, she's definitely one of ours."

"She can't be! We'd remeber having a kid her age! Actually, we wouldn't, because we were around -"

"Nonsense, Septimus. She's a Weasley. Sweetie - Ginny, dear, you're alright. Get some rest."

Ginny nodded, tired. She went back to sleep.

* * *

"The Weasleys have finally adopted you back into the family," Graves said, waspishly. "About time."

"You worried, old man?" She grinned at him, happy. She had a family again. Even if was going to be weird to be her dad's sister, or something. She didn't actually know her own family heritage, which seemed a bit dumb in retrospect, when you're, y'know, _time-travelling._

Graves' eyes softened, which. Yeah.

"I worry about you too, you git." She said. "How's Leta?"

"Better, fully recovered." Graves said. "I'm going back to America on the Monday. Work doesn't stop for reckless hit wtiches, you know."

"What?" Ginny blinked. Graves grinned.

Dear Merlin.

* * *

"So." Tina smiled at her, soft and proud. "Hit Witch... how's it feel?"

"More a contractor, really." She grinned. "I'm on the Dark Magic section, specifically that for Lords and Ladies that want in on the 'ruling the world' craze."

"Let me guess:" Tina paused for effect. "Grindlewald?"

"That's 10 points on the board," Ginny replied, grinning. "The Dark Forces are losing rapidly."

Tina shook her head. "I will never understand that sport of yours."

Ginny laughed.

* * *

Ginny ages. Oh, very slowly - slower than most witches and wizards. But she does. Still, despite that, she'll be fully grey by the time she's born, she thinks, and that feels fitting.

"Hi, Queenie," She says. It's going to be shit to say goodbye to these people, eventually.

(In her job - it's easy to find out she can't die.)

"Honey," Queenie smiles, and she's still taller, still golden. Still sunshine.

Leta and Theseus had kids. They're good kids, and they're Scamanders, and they're Lestranges. They're both, and it balances. They don't deserve the weight the latter holds, but... Ginny thinks they'll be able to hold it. Maybe even, to them, it won't weigh anything at all.

Tina and Newt - couldn't. But they adopted, just the once; a son. Rolph. He's wonderful, and he's the best nephew she has, but don't tell the others.

Queenie and Jacob? Born to be parents. Born to be grandparents, when it happens. Born to have a big, happy family, and they do.

Ginny's a bit overwhelmed that they named their first daughter after her (Angel, she's called - but that's what Jacob calls Ginny. _Our Guardian Angel._ It's - it means a lot. Even if she can't bring herself to say it.) and then there's - there's Angel, and there's - all the kids, all running at Ginny, and Ginny laughs and lets them pile on because she's - happy.

She's happy, she thinks. It's a nice thought.

* * *

And yet.

_Nothing gold can stay._

But that's not yet.

That's at the end.

* * *

Dumbledore faces Grindlewald. She thinks it has to be that way, she does - but she doesn't think he has to do it alone.

It's a mercy, also, when Ginny stuns Dumbledore mid-fight, and kills Grindlewald where he stands, the Elder Wand in her hand.

She's commended. Order of Merlin, first class. It's crazy, how much attention she gets, and she feels like Harry, trying to flatten down his fringe, make himself less recognizable - but Ginny's got too many scars. She can't hide them all.

So she doesn't.

She doesn't even try.

(Dumbledore doesn't talk to her again for a very, very long time. It - doesn't sting. She remember's Rita's book, and she scowls, and she thinks if anyone will get to write his biography, it will be _him._ Or _no-one.)_

 

* * *

They try to make her a lot of things, after that. She refuses, starts about writing her own autobiography, before anyone can get any nasty ideas, and knows she'll never finish it.

She'll outlive her friends, her family. Septimus and Cedrella (and aren't those the two most pureblood names Ginny's ever heard, _honestly_ ) have already had their first kid. There's gonna be Arthur, her _dad,_ in the fifties, along with the other son. She never knew her grandparents, or her uncles, not really. They'd died in - Merlin, in one of the wars.

It's - getting to be a bit too close to home. Literally.

* * *

Nothing Gold Can Stay. Robert Frost.

She read it, once. Poetry was a _thing,_ and Jacob was a muggle - ergo, muggle poetry.

> 
>     Nature’s first green is gold, 
>     Her hardest hue to hold. 
>     Her early leaf’s a flower; 
>     But only so an hour. 
>     Then leaf subsides to leaf. 
>     So Eden sank to grief, 
>     So dawn goes down to day. 
>     Nothing gold can stay.

Poetry was - a thing. She didn't like a lot of it, but some of it stuck with her.

Harry was gold, she thinks.

_The want of gold to stay._

She names her book.

* * *

She can feel it coming. She thought it'd be her birth, maybe, when she disappeared - but - no.

Conception. It's - logical. But it's... too soon.

Far too soon.

She doesn't want to say goodbye.

"Oh, honey," Queenie says. Graves is here  - oh, fuck it, Percival - and he's got his hand, firm, on her shoulder. Septimus and Cedrella are crying their fucking eyes out, as is Jacob, and Tina's not far behind.

Queenie's eyes are streaming, but she sounds fine. Merlin, even when she cries she's fucking pretty.

"This is it, Sunshine," Ginny rasps. "Nothing gold can stay."

Queenie is gold, too. Harry was. Queenie is.

"Oh, Honey," Queenie said, "Why'd you think I call you that, huh?"

Golden fucking honey. Shit, Ginny's an idiot.

Ginny blinks past tears she cant feel - her eyes are way past fucking buring point now, it's all just a blur.

"Rest, soldier," Tina says. "You did good." She sniffles, and she's gone, and Newt's crying too, the baby. Merlin, she _loves_ him, why the fuck is she mocking Newt _now_.

"You're great," Ginny says. "All of you." She lets out a rattling breath. "Tell little Ginny hi for me, huh? And let her finish the story."

"We will," Graves promises. God, she's being a fucking bitch. Putting that much on little Ginny's shoulders.

Well. She's little Ginny. Ginny knows for a fact that girl's got strong shoulders.

Ginny sighs, and closes her eyes.

Nothing gold can stay.

* * *

Molly and Arthur blink owlishly at the gather that appears, suddenly, on the eve of their daughter's birth. 

Their _daughter's_ birth. Molly couldn't be happier, but most of these people are strangers and -

_most of._

"Mum, Dad," Arthur says, smiling, but it's frail. They're old, Septimus and Cedrella. It's - it almost looks like they were holding out, just for this.

"Ginevra," Molly says. "Our daughter. Ginevra Molly Weasley." She feels like it's important to state, under the weight of their gazes - like... like it's - imperative, almost.

There's a woosh of breath as everyone breathes, and then - smiles.

"Welcome to the world, sugar," Queenie says. Gold can't stay - she's not gold. Just a baby. A child, as fleetingly permanent as the rest.

"Ginny Weaseley," Septimus says, and Arthur's head snaps up. "A fine name."

Oh. Molly didn't even -

"A fine name indeed." And that's - that's _the_ Percival Graves? And - and -

"There are famous people at my daughter's birth," Molly said, faintly. She'd always been one for celebrity crushes, after all.

Tina smiled. Leta smiled. They all did - this large group of people that looked so... at home, all in the one place.

Molly and Aruthur were going to have to build extra rooms, she decided.

The more the merrier. And all that.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> obviously, I don't own 'Nothing Gold Can Stay' by Robert Frost. 
> 
> also, I might write an epilogue. Thoughts?


End file.
